As we've done the past 3 years, my colleague (sr. minister) and I have written our Christmas Eve sermon together with the Spirit. This year we discerned a need for hope. May your Christmas, and all year, know the hope born in Christ's ministry of compassion, justice and love.
CHRISTMAS EVE 2011: HOPE
Hope is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me[i]
When I sent my application in to become Plymouth’s Associate Minister several years ago,
I began my ministry statement by claiming:
“Emily Dickinson is one of my favorite theologians.”
Even though she was “merely” a poet, Emily’s writings can provoke deep spiritual reflection.
Like in this poem about hope.
Hope through the harshest times.
Hope in the worst circumstances.
Hope simply being present—without asking anything in return.
Hope is one of the pervasive themes of the holiday season. Christmas encourages us to
hope in a savior being born once more;
hope that he may finally usher in a kin-dom of peace;
hope that the world might finally experience what God’s Shalom truly looks like—
the lion lying down with the lamb;
justice and compassion and wholeness for all.
And yet, paradoxically, hope can also seem very hard this time of year.
We share joy with our families
while wondering what those with no family will do on Christmas Day.
We give and receive beautiful gifts
knowing some people don’t have clean water to drink, much less expendable income.
We sing “Peace on Earth, Goodwill to All” knowing that—
even while U.S. troops have withdrawn from Iraq—
there remains war and violence throughout this world.
Hope is hard.
In fact, sometimes it can seem quite pointless—as fantasy author Margaret Weis defines it in one of her novels: “Hope is the denial of reality.”[ii]
Others have expressed this same sentiment, calling hope foolish or a waste of energy.
Because how can we really continue to hope after 2000 years of this same birth story; this same baby Messiah?
Loved ones still die.
Jobs are still lost in a struggling economy.
Good friends still hurt us by unintentionally careless words.
And we still take out our fears or frustrations on those closest to us.
Is all really hopeless, then?
One of my other favorite theologians—this time not a poet—is the fiery-faithful-justice-preaching Benedictine nun Joan Chittister. In her book Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope Sister Joan repudiates the idea that hope is a “denial of reality.” She insists instead:
“Reality is the only thing we have that can possibly nourish hope. Hope is not based on the ability to fabricate a better future; it is grounded in the ability to remember with new understanding an equally difficult past—either our own or someone else’s. The fact is [Chittister sums up] our memories are the seedbed of our hope.”[iii]
Reality shows us—
looking back on the ways we or others have previously gotten through shows us—
there is the possibility for a glimmer of light in this present darkness as well.
Consider Mary’s song as an example—
the Magnificat that suddenly pours out of her upon experiencing the hope growing within her:
“my soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my savior…God has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.”
This is a startling song of hope coming from
a poor young woman in the face of
a shameful pre-marital pregnancy in
a patriarchal era when she should be
stoned for adultery;
a Jew, nonetheless! a people oppressed by Roman occupiers.
In her present situation, how can she be hopeful?
Her hope really has no basis in light of what she faces.
Except in a memory of the past of her people—
an older story has sparked Mary’s hope-filled song.
Hannah’s song, actually! From the Old Testament book of Samuel, when another woman seemingly without hope finds strength and prays:
“Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil…The Lord raises up the poor from the dust…to make them sit with princes.”[iv]
In an apparently futile situation, Mary found hope in a memory of the past,
a hope that emerged from another’s struggle—Hannah’s struggle—
one that allowed Mary to continue; to bring new hope into the world.
As Sister Joan reminds us, “Hope lies in the memory of God’s previous goodness to us
in a world that is both beautiful and harsh.”[v]
Beautiful and harsh—
because this world is not without pain.
A couple weeks ago I helped wrap Christmas presents with a friend.
Every year, she and some others make or buy gifts
for a local social services organization for
persons living with mental illness.
She calls these people “the invisibles”:
adults whom we tend to shy away from as they
talk to their hallucinations
or miss the social niceties we expect of people in public.
We wrapped about 50 homemade-and-hand-picked blankets,
which were then given to clients of this program at their holiday party.
As you might imagine, living with a mental illness can be life-threatening as well as isolating.
Loved ones of clients constantly wonder if
their brother will become homeless, his whereabouts unknown to them;
or if their daughter will overdose alone one night.
You might wonder how someone can maintain hope in such circumstances?
A couple days ago I received an email update about the holiday party and gift-giving from my friend. She wrote:
Everyone got to pick out their own blanket.
By the end of the evening, every client had slowly, during the few hours the party lasted, taken the blanket out of their bag, and without noticing what anyone else was doing, began putting their blanket around themselves...slowly and carefully.......
As the end of the party drew near, they were all sitting around, filled up with a great, hot, Christmas dinner…. All the clients now had their blankets wrapped lovingly around their shoulders.
You may think it a small gift, [my friend wrote] but for these people, it is like a million bucks.
This story may sound sentimental to you, but to me it is an image of fiercely holding-on to hope.
Because what you eventually come to find out from this person
who so joyfully picked out cloth and wrapped presents,
is that her son was one of these “invisibles,”
and he died 6 years ago from the effects of his mental illness.
If she can hold on to hope following such struggle and loss,
if she can offer hope to others facing similar challenges,
do we not hold the possibility in our lives as well?
~~~
This week’s issue of The Christian Science Monitor leads with an article titled,
“The (Surprisingly) Upbeat State of the World” –
long-term international trends reveal that more women are being educated,
fewer people are living in poverty,
violence is down, and
democracies are on the rise.
Yet, a quick glance at cable news does not inspire hope:
because any positive economic news,
like increased housing starts or lower unemployment,
is quickly offset by a negative retort:
“Job creation is growing…BUT nagging unemployment remains high.”
The angels in the nativity stories were essentially the broadcast journalists of their day.
It was they who conveyed the news to Mary that she would bear a child;
it was they who told Joseph in a dream that everything would be okay;
it was they who announced the birth of the baby in Bethlehem.
Imagine what would have happened if the angels coming to the shepherds had said,
“For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people: for born to you this day
in the City of David is a savior, who is Christ the Lord…
BUT you are still going to live in poverty,
you are still under the oppressive heel of the Roman Empire,
and Herod is going to come looking for the baby and
try to kill him, and then his followers are going to be persecuted for a few centuries.”
It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence and hope, does it?!
Jesus’ birth didn’t fix everything for the people he was sent to;
daily life was still just as hard, if not harder.
Oppression and imperialism continued.
But something new happened that night
and in the darkest moments of Jesus’ life and death.
Something took hold that was deep within his Jewish tradition.
Could he be the messiah? the great liberator?
Could he be the one who promotes regime change
by proclaiming the kingdom of God?
Is he the one who defies even death…that death is not God’s final word?
Could he bring hope, not just to his people, but in the coming centuries to people all around the Roman Empire, and eventually to people all around the world?
Could he be the one who in the most ultimate sense is our hope –
not just twenty centuries ago in a Judean village,
but here, now, today?
It isn’t the case that Pollyanna attitudes trump reality.
Reality is that God came to earth in love.
Reality is that God desires for us to have abundant life.
That is the gift of Christmas. So, this Christmas, let us each be bearers of abundance.
Let us be bearers of Christ’s light and hope
for one another and for the world.
I close with one more theologian: Civil Rights leader Howard Thurman:
I will light Candles this Christmas;
Candles of joy despite all sadness,
Candles of hope where despair keeps watch,
Candles of courage for fears ever present,
Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,
Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,
Candles of love to inspire all my living,
Candles that will burn all the year long.
May it be so. Amen.
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